


A very bad day.

by Leiazher (Earlephant)



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Crowley is a disaster, Fluff, Love Confessions, M/M, Mini-Vacation, appalling lack of romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-09-26 09:30:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20387509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Earlephant/pseuds/Leiazher
Summary: His ego and his shin were bruised, his insides had been infested with butterflies and sunshine and all manner of pleasant and cute things, and the cold and wet Mars in Stockholm was bleak and boring.And there was steam coming out of his ears.





	A very bad day.

Crowley was not having a good day. In fact, he was having a very bad no good day. It was frankly appalling.  
He was sitting outside a cafe in _Sweden_ of all places, stuck in the cold, drinking even colder coffee. He'd have gone indoors if his pride wasn't in the way. Oh, he'd made a mess of things, literally. 

The barista and what he assumed was the manager were both still throwing dirty looks at him as Aziraphale tried to smooth out the whole ordeal: _"Oh I am so sorry about that, he just stumbled a bit, Oh I'll pay of course, Not to worry, I'll help clean it up."_

What Crowley had done was to stumble over a display full of artisan teas and coffee beans which claimed to be vegan and gluten free, sending the shelf right in to the coffee refill station and breaking the glass pots and dragging one of the hotplates to the floor, shattering and sending pieces of cheap electronics all over the place.

And why had he done that? 

Well, it went something like this:

Aziraphale had heard great things about Sweden's antique book stores, and after a few months of sending actual postcards and letters to the owner of one, he decided it was time to take a trip to Stockholm to peruse the collections and _maybe_ buy something. (As if he could resist).  
Crowley had decided to follow, just on principle, because letting Aziraphale travel alone to a foreign country had never resulted in anything good.

So they had hopped on a plane, landed in Stockholm a few hours later, and immediately decided to go to the bookshop. Aziraphale had "Ohh"d and "Ahh"d an appropriate amount and bought out the entire stock of ancient Latin texts, emptying a fifth of the store in the process, he paid an obscene amount for the books and another obscene amount to have them delivered to London, because he had conceded there was actually _no way_ the airline would let them put _three hundred and forty seven_ books of varying sizes in the carry-on.

This had taken a few hours, and Crowley had spent most of the time looking at reviews for good cafe's, because surely the angel would be hungry after this.

But Aziraphale wasn't hungry, and decided that a walk was in order. They saw the parliament, the royal residence, and the high court. Then they had gone in to a souvenir shop because Aziraphale absolutely _had_ to have a "Dala horse". Crowley could admit, to himself, that it was kind of pretty and _would_ fit in with the bookshops decor.  
(He had even bought a black one with blue and green swirls for himself when he was sure the angel was occupied by a display of handmade necklaces.)

They had walked some more, and Aziraphale had been wringing his hands a lot, acting a bit off and evasive, pointing out everything from pigeons to architecture and back to pigeons again.  
Crowley had been _slightly_ concerned. But came to the conclusion that the angel was probably just excited to get home to London and await his new collection of books.

This was _not_ the case.

Aziraphale had abruptly stopped outside a somewhat promising cafe, and declared he was starving and wanted a croissant and a cup of hot chocolate. They had gone inside, gotten in line, and Aziraphale had said, word for word:

"Crowley, I'm very happy you came with me, and I want you to know that... well... I'm very flattered, and I... well... the thing is. Oh, how do I say it, oh... I have been looking for a good time, but there really is none, is there? So, well... Oh! And I bought you this necklace! I thought it would fit you perfectly"  
And then he had proceeded to pull a small paper bag out of his pocket and shake out a _beautiful_ necklace made of an old fork in the shape of a serpent with a forked tongue, and _then_ proceeded to _put the necklace on Crowley_ and _brush his finger against Crowley's throat_, and _then_ said: "I love you too, my dear".

Crowley had stumbled, then escaped with the sub-par coffee the irate barista had made him. He could _taste_ the irritation and spite in the drink.

The weight of the necklace was choking him, and he could still feel the heat of Aziraphale's soft fingers against his throat, and he was blushing furiously. _"I love you too, my dear."_

He was conflicted.

_He_ had been planning on taking Aziraphale out to a romantic restaurant this very evening, gotten him slightly tipsy on good wine, and then confess his undying love, and the angel already knew! He had been planning it the entire plane ride over, and then the whole walk to the bookshop, and then he hadn't just been looking up cafes on his phone, but restaurants too, and had decided on a great one close to the royal gardens so they could take a stroll through the park afterwards and maybe kiss by the water.

His plan was blown to smithereens, because the angel had beaten him to it, and it hadn't been the slightest bit romantic.  
The cafe wasn't even _cozy_! Just one of those inner city cafe's with generic decor and dispassionate staff who didn't know the first thing about which coffee bean was best for which brew.

Crowley was _not_ having a good day.

His ego and his shin were bruised, his insides had been infested with butterflies and sunshine and all manner of pleasant and cute things, and the cold and wet Mars in Stockholm was bleak and boring. 

And there was steam coming out of his ears.

Because being the sudden and sole subject of an angel's unrestrained love did things to people, occult or otherwise. 

He took a gulp of disgusting coffee to offset the good feelings squirming in his chest, maybe he'd be able to formulate actual _words_ once Aziraphale joined him.

The angel chose that moment to exit the cafe with his own to-go cup and a bag containing an over-prized croissant.  
"I didn't mean to startle you." He whispers guiltily, and Crowley was _not_ having it, he stood up abruptly, sending his chair toppling back on the cobble stones, he righted it with a careless miracle and grabbed the angel's unoccupied hand.

"Don't you dare apologizssse!" He hissed, a deep scowl on his face, then he braided their fingers together and beat a hasty retreat with the confused angel trailing along behind him. He didn't say a word until they'd found and dried a park bench a few minutes away. And Crowley didn't let Aziraphale have his hand back. 

The angel was smiling smugly as he took a sip of his hot chocolate. 

"Thanks for the necklace." Crowley whispered, using his own free hand to touch it reverentially. A gift. A token. _Unconditional love and acceptance for all that he is_.

"You're most welcome, love." Crowley's blush ratcheted up a few notches. "To be honest, I was going to wait, take you out somewhere nice and let you know... I _have_ been picking up on your signals, dear, I'm sorry it's taken me so long to... well... to say I love you too."

Crowley was dying. He was going to die of heatstroke in _Sweden_. He was going to perish painfully and it'd be very tragic. The blush spread from his cheeks and down his neck and chest, and his whole body was burning, and steaming a bit, because Aziraphale did _nothing_ to dial back on the love.

"It'd have been nice." He managed to choke out, and then shook his head. "But... But this was nice, too." 

Aziraphale chuckled, then leaned over slightly and brushed a kiss to Crowley's cheek.

Dying, he was _actually_ dying.

So no, Crowley was _not_ having a good day. 

He was having the _best_ day of his entire existence. The _Best_.

"I love you, Angel."


End file.
